Shades of Black
by America La
Summary: After years of silence Canada finally receives a telephone call from his brother, but it may already be too late for Canada to put his past hatred behind him and move on with his life. A Canada Day fanfiction


The telephone blared without restraint in Matthew's ear, screeching to be heard as the Canadian's drowsy hand lolled over, smacking the top as though it were his currently silent alarm clock. It was far too early, or at least in his mind, to be answering calls that would probably be nothing but useless babble followed by the marketing intern on the other end asking 'excuse me sir…sir are you present?' at the end of the conversation when he had been commenting avidly throughout the entirety of the call and he frankly didn't want to hear it, not on any day not at any sort of time especially this ungodly hour. Folding his pillow over his head the young nation prayed that the screeching would stop as it scratched deep lines of distress behind his eyes like those of fingernails on a chalk board as the sound slowly awakened him; he hoped that whatever idiot was calling would simply give up any hope of reaching him and let the young man get back to his much deserved sleep.

All was silent for a moment as the phone went to the answering machine and for a single second the Canadian let out a soft sigh of relief as he returned the pillow beneath his head while his bear sprawled further out to take over the young nation's bed as though he in fact owned the place and Matthew was simply a guest. Ignoring his pet the young man's purple eyes soon closed to reveal the black world behind them, his breathing slowing to a soothing pace that almost reminded him of the crashing of waves against a lake shore. Just as he swore he would fall into the black waters of sleep and solitude that lay beyond his breath, the nation was abruptly pulled from his dreams by a chain, yanking him away from the blackness that beckoned him like a beacon in the dark, if only he could so vanish into that land without light he was sure all worries would disappear.

His eyes jerked open, brow crinkling in a potent mixture of anger and distress as he reached for the now once again blaring telephone, lifting the off-white neck to his ear while sitting himself upright, glancing at the caller ID to hopefully share with him whatever important person was calling him relentlessly at this hour. It wasn't any man he particularly desired to see as the phone blinked in green letters: _Alfred F. Jones. _Clenching his teeth to hopefully hide the obvious annoyance in his almost silent voice the young nation snapped into the receiver "Pourquoi diable êtes-vous m'appeler au ..." glancing over at his bedside clock the young man let out a curse between his teeth, quiet enough so that the American on the other end hadn't heard a single sound, before pausing for a brief moment, and continuing "cinq heures du matin! Idiot!"

From the static that plagued the spaces between his brother's voice the American let out a sharp, painfully loud laugh into Matthew's ear. "Canada, did you know that you sound just like France when you speak like him? I can't tell a damn thing you're saying." The last words where murmured in slight annoyance as he adjusted the phone on his shoulder, sending the Canadian a new batch of fresh static, forcing Matthew to smile as his pictured his linguistically challenged brother attempting to figure out exactly what he had just said to him, heck maybe he would have even resorted to pulling out one of his funny "Dirty" dictionaries to look up a series of phrases, he doubted that he would find anything useful. "Anyway, where the hell are you?" The roar of passing cars almost drowned out the sound that reached Matthew's ear, and his brother was asking where he was? It sounded like the American was in the middle of a freeway!

"At home, sleeping," the young blonde spat into the phone, although it sounded a bit more like a moan, glancing longingly at his pillow "At least until you had some compulsion to call me at this ungodly hour. What the hell is wrong with you?" he hissed into the phone, hanging his legs off the side of his bed while his head rested in the palm of his right hand, purple eyes opening and closing in a blind attempt to force the blurry sheets that hung over them to fall away, hopefully allowing him not to glancing over at the bed with such a longing echoing within his chest, if only he could sleep for an eternity, what an escape, what a way to avoid his brother without ever having to lurk in the shadows or vanish all together whenever he happened to be about. He could stand tall in those lonely dreams that he so wished were a reality instead of this one, where he felt his head bow and his shoulders slum at the sight of a brown bomber.

Ignoring the question the American hollered into the phone to hurry up and get his hide out of bed with a mild tone of disappointment mixed in his voice, as though he were deeply saddened by the fact that his twin brother had decided to sleep past the wee hours of the morning. "Don't you know what day it is, idiot?" America spat before slamming the phone upon his receiver harder than need be, the sounds of rushing automobiles fading away from Matthews ears as he slowly, more gently than his brother, placed his own telephone onto the receiver, glancing about the room with a sense of mild confusion, searching for any clue to what his brother could possibly be talking about. Today was just like any other day, there was nothing special he could recall that would take place, especially in the middle of the night.

Pale feet landing on the icy wood floors the Canadian made his way out of the room, carefully closing the door so not to disturb his sleeping friend, who was still sprawled out on the bed as though his master had not left. Darkness met him as he entered the hall, the blinds in the windows drawn tightly shut—even if they would have been open there would have been little light provided from outside—all was black and silent just as in his dreams, just as he liked it. Pulling a flashlight from a side table the young man fished for his calendar as small slips of paper that had been collected throughout the year flew about the kitchen (he even found a Tim Horton's coupon that hadn't expired yet). Finally finding the correct date the blonde pulled his glasses from the pocket of his robe, slipping them on his face in a feeble hope to discern his poor handwriting from the meager light that his flashlight provided. Squinting, the Canadian let of a soft curse before slamming the book shut as though to hope that the words written under the particular date would be drilled down into the table if he applied the correct force.

_JULY FIRST_

_CANADA DAY: spend day with Alfred_

How could he have forgotten his own birthday? Then again no one particularly paid him any mind, even on the first of July and he usually ended up eating the cake that he baked for himself alone with his bear, waiting for the people that he longed would show up at his door. They never did. Cursing again under his breath Matthew longed once again to forget that it was his birthday, he would rather not even think about it. The fact was that he would probably, just like every other year in the past, spend it eating cake alone in his kitchen while wishing he could return to his dreams. Actually that would be much preferred as to spending the day with his twin brother. The bastard usually didn't even bother to call on holidays, let alone any normal sort of occasion. In fact, Matthew couldn't remember the last time he had spoken to his sibling since the phone call a few moments earlier. A year? Maybe even a decade, if he didn't count the times he had tried to speak but words where taken greedily by the air that left his lips. Why after ten years of silence would his brother call him, acting as though he had forgotten something important when he for the last decade hadn't even bothered a proper hello? Matthew dwelled as he slipped back into his room to grab a change of clothes. He would go where America wanted, but he certainly wasn't going to enjoy himself.

The trip across the border was always more than Canada could handle, his hands gripping the rim of the steering wheel as his purple eyes bore a hole into the back bumper of the car in front of him, which was stuck in an agonizingly long line. Closing his eyes, the young man could hear the moaning engines of eighteen wheelers on either side of him, along with a few of the bass beats from car radios who happened to have their windows rolled down bouncing about on the road. Several different octaves of honks and screeches rang in the air as edgy citizens impatiently wished to get across the border to finish work as fast as possible and return home to the rest of their families that had the holiday off, a thick scent of exhaust and other fumes coating the air so that the place seemed to be more like a gas station than a bridge to another nation.

Matthew wouldn't have been able to stand sitting there if it hadn't been for his coffee, which was currently tucked snugly in the cup holder, half empty with painfully hot liquid sloshing around its foam prison each time the young man dared to tap the gas or slam his foot heavily against the beak, sending the contents of the car jolting forward. Reaching for the cup the young nation let the hot liquid touch his lips, sending a burning sensation throughout is body while he attempted to peer around the car in front of him in hopes to see how far ahead the border patrol was. He hoped it was quite far; although he hated waiting in line to cross a bridge, he would rather spend a whole day sitting on a road that smelled like a gas station than with any sort of ungrateful brother. Ignoring the burning heat he took a deep drink of the coffee, smiling as the warmth that was contained in the cup spread to the rest of his body, for a moment shoving all thoughts of any Americans out of his mind.

The wait wasn't long enough, and in a few short minutes his car pulled up to the border patrol gate for a moment, his foot itching to slam of the gas and turn the vehicle around as fast as legally allowed, maybe even a bit faster. Usually the guards at the small patrol booth didn't even notice his car, as though his invisibility was a contagious disease and it too had infected whatever he so happened to occupy, and they would allow him to pass without any sort of inspection or even a glance at the passport that rested in the glove box, gathering dust with each passing year.

As he allowed a sideways glance at the booth, Matthew saw that the woman at the gate stood at his window, looming over him with rather aggravated eyes, not waving him on but looking straight at the exact place where the young nation was seated. His muscles tensing further with each moment as the blood that ran through his veins quickened, the young blonde rolled down the window hesitantly, not sure whether he should kiss the woman or run from the car in petrified fear. "Excuse me," Canada murmured hesitantly, pausing for a moment in blind shock as the words that left his lips seemed to be amplified by a speaker that was seated in front of his mouth, the words coming out in a volume that one would expect of his twin brother. He sounded like him. Canada didn't know why, but he hated his voice as each of the syllables left his lips, wishing he could stab the sounds in the middle of the air and that they would be the same as allowing a knife to pass through his brother's heart. "Miss, can you_ see_ me?"

The woman assured to him that she could in fact see him, checking his passport as she shook her head, giving the young man pitying glances as though he were indeed mad or deranged in some way before handing him back his passport and waving him onward into the United States of America.

Canada could tell that he had entered another nation the second that his car passed over the border. For a moment after his hands shook on the wheel as blood pumped to them, as though to prepare him to turn the car around in the most dangerous maneuver possible to avoid any sort of attack that would come in Michigan. The idea that anyone would even attack a nation physically was a revolting, let alone staging an attack from a state like Michigan, but nonetheless he found his eyes darting to the corners and shadow-covered areas at the edges of his vision, almost expecting a bullet to fly gracefully through the window's glass, smashing though his head, and sending him to the silent black land that lay beyond his dreams.

But he could only dream; America stood in front of one of the many shops that lined the street, tapping his foot against the ground to a beat only he could hear while fiddling with his phone, probably making a cupcake or toast. Matthew was sure that his brother wasn't going to give him a second glance as he parked the car, slightly more abruptly than needed, against the curb. He would probably have to spend several minutes probing him, trying to force him to see what he couldn't or what he feared to see in the first place. Pulling the keys from their slot the young blonde let out a slightly disappointed sigh at the premonition before his purple eyes met the blue ones staring into his window as the American waved like a moron on the street.

Shaking his head, attempting to hide the thick shock that vibrated around his body with a small smile, Canada slid out of the seat of his car slamming the door behind him, staring back up at his brother to make sure he hadn't just imagined him _waving _at him, but he was met by the same dopey looking smile and bright blue eyes. "I knew you'd come!" the American cried out, making his way over to the vehicle with a smile that didn't fully hide the relief that was thick and potent beneath the mask of absurd composure and grabbing onto his brother's arm much harder than the Canadian could have ever imagined possible, even by the standards of a nation, and he felt himself being yanked across the street to a large, black SVU.

"Alfred—!" he choked out as he stumbled after his brother between the traffic that sped past the two of them as they ran—his idiotic brother had never been one to watch for oncoming traffic—"Where the heck are you taking me? Can I please just go home already?" he begged, cringing as his voice came out much too loud to sound like what he defined as his own, his thoughts still back at the border patrol booth where the woman had actually noticed his existence, where his voice had changed, and now America could see him for the first time in what seemed to be a decade. Canada wasn't sure if he wished to allow tears of brilliant joy to fall blindly from his eyes, allowing his body to shake with them, trembling because of the awe of being recognized, or if he would much rather fall into the black abyss that occupied the back of his mind, beckoning to him in the hours of sleep.

Alfred didn't seem to take note of the fact that his brother no longer stood quiet so directly in his shadow, but simply smiled as he forcefully shoved the Canadian into the passenger's seat of the SUV. Slamming on the gas pedal, they flew down the road, his words almost lost within the wind. "You'll see."

Matthew was fairly sure that he fell asleep, although he wasn't sure how since America turned the radio up as high as it would go so that he could hear Lady Gaga over the roar of the car, because when his eyes opened again they weren't filled with the sight of a border town cramped with shoppers for the holiday weekend, the town painted red, white, and blue as though Uncle Sam had thrown up on it. The scent of water greeted him with the sun blaring directly into his face with no sort of restraint. Tears running on his face from the shining light, he wiped them away before gaining an idea of his surroundings, letting a small gasp of awe pass through his lips before even considering filtering it so that his brother wouldn't hear.

A beach was alight from the sun before him, pale sand glowing with a heat that reminded him of the cup of coffee that he had consumed earlier that morning, searing hot to the touch, so painful that one considered stopping after a few steps before they managed to run across to be greeted by the lapping of the icy water that chilled their nerves and turned their skin an icy white. A picnic blanket was spread out just out of the water's frigid clutches, a cooler and basket laying in no particular order on top of it as though nature had created them from scratch, just waiting for two people to stumble across such a magically wonderful anomaly. "America, what the hell is this?" Canada breathed, glancing over at the driver's seat to be greeted with another obviously fake smile, keeping tension and fear beneath a facade in the shape of a grin.

"So the sleepy-head is finally awake?" Alfred laughed, looking out at the water, his eyes almost reflecting the exact color in his glasses before looking back over at the once-sleeping Canadian, doing his best to hide a bit of shock as his eyes passed over him, as though in those few seconds he had forgotten that his brother had been seated right next to him. A bit more nervously than before, the American continued. "For your birthday, stupid, what else?" With an obnoxious laugh his door sprang open, the young man running towards the water at full speed, laughing in pain as the sand seared his feet. Rolling his eyes before letting out a slightly exasperated sigh, Canada threw open his own door, proceeding almost identically to the water's edge, laughter like he had never heard before burst out from his own throat without any sort of restraint, like a bird finally breaking away from its cage for the first time and catching the open air of the rest of its life.

Matthew swore that a hamburger had never tasted as good as it did that day, as though hours of playing in the water with his brother made the world seem that much of a more vibrant place. The scents and smells of the beach seemed more beautiful, the colors brighter than anything he could have even though of in the black that was held within his dreams. He didn't want to go back there, no, not any time soon at least, but the young man felt his purple eyes becoming foggy even though it wasn't past nine in the evening. The sun was just beginning to set, creating a bright splash of colors of his land that one could make out if they squinted in the distance.

Taking another bite of the sandwich the young man glanced over at the horizon, allowing a gasp of pure joy to escape from his lips at the colorful show that exploded over on his shores, fireworks painting the sky any shade and hue he could possibly imagine, glitter tossed in the air over the lake sparkling like falling tears as it let out one last wail before flickering out of existence followed by yet another in procession of greater size and beauty. Heart beating fast, the young man longed to run out to the water pointing and laughing at the sight while his brother chased him around the beach like two children, but neither man moved, both sitting on the beach, one in stupefied in amazement, the other coldly staring forward as though he would rather not look at the horrifying scene that was about to occur.

Purple eyes looking up at his brother's blue, the Canadian let out a soft sigh before speaking, the words coming out as only a whisper, no matter how hard to tried to force them to leave his mind any louder, as though this very self was setting like the sun, falling away as it provided the bright fireworks that flickered his words across the sky. "I'm sorry I hated you, brother…I'm—" the words trembled out of his lips as tears feel from his eyes, shoulders shaking, shaking so hard and unable to stop as hot rain fell across his cheeks. He could feel his body fading away; Alfred's arm that was wrapped comfortingly around his broad shoulders held tighter but it gradually fell into its self.

Glancing down on his skin all he could see where the red and silver glitter thrown in the air, the water almost reflected on the area he had once occupied so easily, tears vanishing into the air before they could saturate the ground, falling into the nothingness that he could feel his soul approaching, into the black that was in the back of his dreams. He longed to hold on, fingers grinding into Alfred's bomber as an attempt to anchor himself to the real world, but he could feel himself slipping, Alfred all the while holding tighter, refusing to look down at his brother, refusing to see him in such a state, only murmuring in a tear-shaken voice, "Matthew, I just want you to know that I love you,", but by time those words escaped his lips he appeared to be very much alone on the blanket, tears falling from his eyes with a message that he would have to wait another decade to deliver.

A/N: Happy Birthday America and Canada, yes it's a birthday present to both of them. Also Happy Birthday to FlightofthePrince and myself (America La). Also thanks to my friend for editing this story to help me keep it a secret from FlightofthePrince. I hope you've enjoyed it!


End file.
